It was with trepidation that she agreed to go over that evening. Unsure of what the next few hours would bring into her already bumpy life, she pondered briefly on the repercussions while packing her bag. Living on the edge was a forte of her past, she had turned cautious after a few recent stings. These next few hours was an adventure she was willing to take. A girl needed a wild ride occasionally, just so she values the stable one she is bound to.
His third floor apartment opened large in front of her. Neat and simply furnished. She looked around and followed his voice down the hallway. Opening the door to the balcony, he smiled at her. She gasped at the view. No, it wasn’t breathtaking, just hugely pleasant and at a height away from the dust, grime and sweat that clung below. Dusk was wrapping itself quickly and she breathed in deep.
Her fingers clung to the rail and they stood in silence, she with her eyes closed, chin tilted into the crisp air, as he watched her through slit eyes. She felt his long arms around her and she smiled; half expecting his touch, half frozen into inaction beyond a smile. With a tilt of his head, he nuzzled her neck, and she squirmed. Instead of dizzying thoughts and romantic flutters, she wondered if his neck hurt to bend so low. Standing at a respectable 5’7″ for a desi woman, she felt dwarfed next to his 6′ 3″ sturdy frame. A novel joy. She turned to face him and he held in his arms a warm yielding body caging an unsure mind.
He was a man of few words. She was loquacious. Normally. Today, in place of all that voluble sound was this wavering silence. An understanding of the what and the when but neither asking why. No one did. A selfish fire that consumed the shred of reason holding back.
That is when she heard the pops. Tiny little holes in the sprawling stillness.
Tearing herself from his strong grip, she swirled around, and exclaimed “It’s raining, omigosh, it’s raining!”
The trees below danced with a tempo, playing a peek-a-boo with the large round thick luscious water drops. With childish abandon, she threw her hands out and let her fingers soak in the shower. She waved her arms wide, up and down, bringing them in closer to taste the drops, and then sticking her tongue out amidst giggles. Without pausing for thought, she bent her back over the railing, and faced the gray sky with the drops drenching her bare face, neck and drenching her skin and kurta. The rush of the height and the danger of falling adding to it all.
He laughed. A deep slow chuckle. Almost endearing, almost teasing. His arms at her waist, a thumb on bare skin, he held onto her as she skipped in childish glee.
“It’s been so long since I’ve gotten drenched in the rain!” In a happiness that overwhelmed everything else, she threw her now soaking arms around his neck and raised herself on her toes. The wind blew stronger. He didn’t mind a few wisps of hair that got in his way as he held her lips in his.
The drops splashed around them, on them, soaking the edges of her pink dupatta, his tee. Ultimately she let herself taste the torrent that washed over her and into her heart.
….and that is how her teenage wish came true. From when as a 14 year old she heard her friend talk forever about a boyfriend kissing her in the rain, she had dreamt of the scenario a few thousand times.
Her husband didn’t like rain. It was just too messy, wet and really quite un-necessary to go gallivanting in it. Rain was to be enjoyed on the dry side of the window, with a cup of hot eliaichi chai and a side of a samosa or two. That was bliss, enough.